


The Aftermath

by TheLovelyPatronus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, No Dialogue, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLovelyPatronus/pseuds/TheLovelyPatronus





	

Neville Longbottom sat alone in what remained of Gryffindor tower, covered in dirt, sweat and blood. The war was finally, blessedly over. Death eaters lay scattered and dead all over the castle. No one wanted to touch them, as if they were diseased and the living feared contagion. The light side had their own casualties. The bodies having been lined up against one side of the wall. All of them were covered and cleaned with a reverence deserved by all of those who had sacrificed themselves.

Yet Neville felt as though his own war was still ongoing. Even though he had helped to kill the giant snake, he still felt as though he had done nothing to avenge his parents. Bellatrix having been executed before he had had a chance to show her the same kindness she had shown his parents left him feeling like he had done nothing at all.

He sat in the common room and stared at the damage. Two of the three walls had collapsed, rubble and dust covered every surface. If it wasn’t for the magic of the castle holding up the upper floors of the tower, Neville was sure it would have collapsed by now. As it was he was growing more and more somber as time went on. The occasional 

of the falling debris made for a fitting soundtrack to his musings.

He thought of his grandmother. He’d never met a stronger woman. Having lost a son and a daughter in law in one fell swoop, she had been so strong. She had held her grief at bay for the baby boy that now clung to her. He would need strength, he would need guidance, he would need her to be both mother and father. Augusta could not grieve, she had a grandson to raise. 

Neville, however, knew all along. All of those nights she thought he was asleep, he would her her sobs and her sniffles. After all, children were supposed to bury their parents, never the other way around. In a way, his parents were dead. The fact that their hearts still beat was irrelevant. Every line on Augusta Longbottom’s face, every wrinkle, was a mark of the grief she so desperately tried to hide. Neville would forever be grateful to her.

He thought of his parents. It was not fair they were so close and at the same time, impossibly far away. Though he could visit them, even though he could touch them and tell them he loved them, they could do nothing but stare blankly ahead. Once in awhile Neville would receive a sweets wrapper from his mother but there was no acknowledgement in her eyes, she didn’t know who he was. He could vaguely remember her voice, cooing at him while she held him tight in her arms. He remembered a song she used to sing to him, the words long forgotten, the melody still etched into his subconscious, like a dream that had stuck with him all of these years. He would hum the melody to himself every night, closing his eyes and pretending that it was her, singing him to sleep.

He thought of his father. A once strong, proud man. Now he was skinny and dead behind the eyes. He was a person, but aside from the body, he was a shell. There was no recognition, no light in his eyes. Most days he laid in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Neville had fewer memories of him, technically speaking, he really only had the one. His father held him in his arms telling him of a world where everyone was safe and loved, where Neville could grow up with nothing but smiles and happiness. 

Neville snorted to himself. The irony was not lost on him. His father had described this world with the intention of being one of the people to bring this world about, yet he and his mother had met their fate before they could see it through. Like so many other innocents who wanted to rid the world of Voldemort’s influence.

How ironic that it should be the next generation that would bring about the fall of the self styled Dark Lord. A generation of orphans and children who had lost family and friends to his bigotry. Neville looked down at his blood stained hands, at the sword still clutched so desperately in his fingers. He decided he would not waste the life that had been given to him. 

He would find Luna, he would tell her that he was in love with her and then he would help rebuild the castle. He would make sure it was back to its former glory. That would leave him with just one more thing, enroll in wizarding University with a major in psychology with a focus of the effects of spell damage on the human brain. 

He vowed to himself in that moment that he would find some way to reverse the damage done to his parents and if he couldn’t do that ,then he’d make sure no child could feel this loss ever again.


End file.
